Three years alone
by KaterinaPond
Summary: Three years since The Fall, and John's still not over it. A rather generic Johnlock fluff story of Johns reaction to Sherlock coming back, but how will Sherlock react? A very short fluffy oneshot :) rater T just because I can.


A/N hello everyone! Here's some Johnlock fluff for you :) post TRF. The usual process, johns reaction to Sherlock coming back, enjoy!

John slumped back into Sherlock's arm chair, his cream colored, woolen jumper hugging his body as he curled up with a blanket draped carelessly over him as he half heartedly watched TV while drinking a cup of tea.

It had been 3 years since the Fall. Since Sherlock Holmes, his best friend, had left him all alone in 221B. It had been tough, and he tried to console other people, he wasn't the only one who had lost a friend; no matter how hard he tried he still could never feel anything but emptiness. No pity, no resentment, just sadness. Guilt and a constant soul sucking, all consuming sadness.

Mycroft seemed to be paying the rent, John quit his job at the surgery, hadnt been on any dates in three years and his limp came back. All because of one man, one impossible mad man who had taken over his life.

He had visited the grave a few times. John went every Christmas, valentines day, Easter and New Years. Every time without fail. He would bring flowers, talk to Sherlock for a while before leaving. One specific time stayed in his mind. He had to get it out and who better to tell than the man himself.

"Sherlock." He has said, almost expecting him to reply.

"There's something I never told you. I-I thought this would be easier since you're." He nearly choked on the word. "Dead. But obviously, it's still hard. Sherlock Holmes, I love you."

After he said that John sat next to the gravestone for a few minutes before standing up, saying his farewell and leaving.

He remembered his first day back at his therapist after the Fall.

"The stuff that you wanted to say, but didn't say it."

"Yeah."

"Say it now." She had asked.

"No. Sorry I can't."

I love you.

That's what he wanted to-needed to say. But he couldn't. Sherlock Holmes was the only one he could ever say that to. Saying it to a grave, in John's mind, didn't really count.

No, never for anyone but him.

He snapped out of the flashback to the sound of a knock on the door. 'Thats the Tesco guy to deliver my shopping' he thought.

John placed his tea cup back onto the saucer on the table, pulled his blanket off and threw it carelessly on the ground before getting up and trudging down the stairs to the door. He gently pulled it open, pulling his wallet off the table by the door, opening it and looking up ready to pay

"Here, is th-" His breath caught in his throat as all the air escaped from John's lungs in complete shock and panic.

"You're dead."

"Good deduction, John." A familiar, deep baritone voice replied. Oh god he'd missed that voice.

John looked at Sherlock closer. His hair hadnt been cut or washed in a while, the unruly raven curls almost covering his eyes. His clothes were obviously clean this earlier in the morning, but were now dusty with small patches of mud caked on in some places; shoes scuffed and bottom hem of his trousers muddy and torn slightly but jacket and scarf were surprisingly still in tact.

He watched Sherlock deduct things about him silently in his head, coming to sound conclusions before starting to voice his findings.

"You quit your job three years ago judging by the fact that your wallet still had cheques in it from then, no new ones been added over that time. Mycrofts paying the rent and sending things over for you, good just as I asked him too. Your limp has come back a few weeks after you quit judging by the wear on the han- ow." Sherlock winced a little, holding his hand to his face. "You slapped me."

"Good deduction."

"Might I ask why?"

"You've been gone for three years, three bloody years Sherlock. I thought you were dead, but you're not, you're here and the first thing you do is start deducing things!" John said, exasperatedly throwing his arms in the air.

Sherlock looked down at John, almost laughing at his steamed expression. Without even thinking, he reached down, pressing his hand against John's cheek and leaning down to press his lips gently to the other mans. John was not aware of the fact that Sherlock had been there every time he visited his best friends grave. Very single time in amongst the trees, or disguised as a regular man. John didn't know Sherlock was there when he confessed his love. He didn't know Sherlock was secretly crying whilst he walked through the trees because he could go and hug his best friend and confess he loved him too. He didn't know Sherlock had spent all of those days John visited, sitting on the bench outside 221B, just sitting. When you think about it, it seems kinda creepy. But he's a dead man, who's to judge.

Sherlock pulled away before wrapping his arms around his best friend in a big hug. John leaned into him and Sherlock pulled tighter.

"I love you too."

A/N some Johnlock fluff for you all :) hope you liked it, please leave a review! Everyone have a wonderful, wonderful day!


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